


No Other Blue

by cazflibs



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Holo!RimmerasAce, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years away as Ace, Rimmer stumbles into the invalid reality from 'Back to Earth' and watches the episode 'Blue', including THAT famous scene. Rimmer/Lister angsty pre-slash. Commissioned by and written for Lauren Mitchell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lauren (notalwaysweak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/gifts).



“Well, I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but you have. We’re officially off the map - this dimension is reading all zeros: ‘invalid reality’.”

Rimmer wrenched his eyes reluctantly open, his head still throbbing. It had been one hell of a rough jump - the vague, hazy memories of dictating his last will and testament still swirling uncomfortably in his stomach.

In fact, Wildfire had ricocheted off one dimension, been ejected from another, before blasting out of the reality slipstream to be farted out into the universe’s arse end of nowhere. As far as he could tell, they’d managed to materialise on a planet of some description - yet the ship’s controls seemed too sparked out and fried to derive any further information from them for now.

“Computer?” he croaked painfully. “Could you please remind me never to attempt a DJ on manual ever again?”

Wildfire’s computer didn’t need a face to express herself. Rimmer could sense the sarcasm dripping luxuriously from every word. “Of course, Ace,” she replied smoothly. “I’ve filed that on the ship’s log and cross-posted it to the database.” She paused wryly. “And for your reference, I’ve placed it under sub-category ‘S’ for ‘No shit, Sherlock’.”

Rimmer’s head sank back against the leather of the seat with a groan. “All right, no need to score below the belt,” he sulked. “More training needed, I admit.”

Once he’d completed the arduous task of extracting himself from the safety harness and convincing the glass roof to slide open - the latter requiring three rather patient attempts followed by a fourth smash of a button - Rimmer stepped out into this strange new world.

The twittered song of the birds echoed around him, the air heavy with a fresh, cold scent that felt caught between surreal novelty and distant familiarity. Tall trees encircled him, thrusting their way from the grassy earth and up into the sky, blocking most of the sunlight.

His nose wrinkled unknowingly in confusion. During his last three years as Ace, he’d visited hundreds of planetoids. Yet this one had a distinct odd sensation about it that he simply couldn’t place.

“Computer?” he called out. “I’m going to take a little stroll, try and work out where we are.”

Rimmer felt her sigh wearily in his mind as the computer momentarily loaded her comms programme into his lightbee so she could still be heard.

“Leaving me to clean up after you again, I see. Like I’m your bloody mother.” There was a pause. “Do you need me to give you your lunch money?” she clucked teasingly.

“Ha ha.”

Rimmer trekked through the forest until the trees cleared to make way for a barren, dirt road – barely wide enough for a van to pass by. Gritty steps punctuated the seemingly endless quiet as he crossed.

He was hit with a strange sense of déjà vu. This whole place seemed achingly familiar; a long-forgotten world most likely lost to the realm of dreams in his mind.

Without pomp or ceremony, a strange yet telling name floated to the surface of his memory.

Nodnol.

He stopped dead. Oh god.

And then he heard it - distant laughter tickling the horizon. Animated chatter in a language he instinctively knew wasn’t being translated by his lightbee’s Babel programme.

And it wasn’t backwards. But forwards.

Leaving the road, he thundered across into the forest before him, drawn forth by the voices. The thin branches whipped against his face as he ran, boots catching in the ancient, gnarled roots that nestled silently in the undergrowth. Yet he didn’t slow his pace. In fact, he kept up his furious speed as the chatter grew louder and clearer, only slowing down when he saw a clearing swiftly approaching.

Panting visibly, he snuck over towards the edge of the trees, parting the woven branches to glance through. And that’s when he saw them.

The human race. The people they’d once thought dead and gone, the ancestors of those they’d lost, were now here before him -- ordinary, oblivious, and alive.

Stumbling out into the clearing, Rimmer watched in open-mouthed awe as their everyday lives played out before him. Children playing on the swings, couples entwined under blankets, elderly ladies chuckling with one another on wooden benches - all seemingly unaware of the terrible fate that their species had suffered in every other incarnation of the cosmos.

This was indeed London. The skyline of the treetops traced the beginnings of distant skyscrapers that marked out the capital’s financial hub.

Earth.

Rimmer felt a wrench of guilt. This was the home, the goal, the Mecca that Lister had craved so deeply stranded in the lonely depths of unchartered space. And yet here it was, right here before him - a paradise that he was able to reach out and touch.

It had been over three million years since he’d even seen another member of the human race, bar its final representative; the mixture of longing and fear of even conversing with one feeling overwhelming. God, it had been far too long.

As the wind swept up the blossom from the grass and sent it swirling up into the sky, Rimmer felt a strange chill in the air. In comparison, it had only been three years since he’d last seen Lister. Yet for some odd reason, that time had seemed to drag out a million times longer. It was an equation that, for Rimmer, simply didn’t add up - but in the Universe’s grand scheme of things, made utterly perfect sense.

The sights and sounds of that famous city suddenly seemed to collapse on top of him, as the clouds resonated with a low rumble. His eyes glanced up to the sky, just in time to feel the first droplets splash against his cheeks.

In that moment, he recognised that strangely familiar oxymoron of heavy freshness he’d felt earlier. The Blerions had once referred to it as megha - ‘the feel in the air before it rains’.

And with this shift in the elements came the inevitable exodus - picnics were hastily packed up, and children snatched from climbing frames as the people of London hurried for shelter. Only one man didn’t stir in this now flurried sea of movement. Instead, he simply stood and embraced it.

Rimmer closed his eyes, feeling the droplets trickling down his cheeks and slowly gathering on the tip of his nose. A playful chuckle escaped, unchecked. It had been hundreds of thousands of years since he’d been caught in a rainstorm, and he could be forgiven for wondering why such a usually unpleasant scenario could now translate into an experience of pure and undiluted joy.

Yet something instinctive told him that he wasn’t just experiencing this for himself -- he was feeling it for Lister too.

******

The high street wasn’t a long trot from the park, and a small, quirky-looking shop looked like it would provide the perfect cover from the oncoming storm.

‘They Walk Among Us’. What a weird name for a boutique.

Although, as soon as Rimmer peered around the door, he could see why. It was clearly a shrine to all things nerdy; a castle of geekdom. The low light and cramped space gave it an almost cave-like feel - a cave that just happened to have posters, memorabilia, models and DVDs decorating its ancient walls.

“…yeah it’s Noddy, mate. How’re you doin?”

Rimmer paused and then edged in awkwardly through the doorway, having clearly walked in on someone mid-conversation. Indeed, the lone shopkeeper’s bear-like frame was facing the far wall, propping a phone between his cheek and shoulder as he flicked idly through a wall calendar - its pictures depicting a lanky man and a red-haired woman posing in front of a blue police box.

“Got your message. I don’t think that Tuesday’s gonna be any good, you know. But Wednesday you’ve got the Warhammer on, haven’t you?”

Rimmer blinked in surprise. From the melodic, sing-song accent, the man certainly wasn’t from around here. It resonated of Lister’s accent in certain tones but didn’t quite match. Geordie, perhaps.

“Look mate, perhaps we can just get a pint in before the convention - ”  Noddy swivelled around back to the till and promptly froze like a rabbit trapped in headlights as he clocked Rimmer for the first time.

Whether it be simulants, GELFs or other strange and exotic creatures, as the legendary Ace, he’d often get this reaction on first encounter. It was their next move that he could never quite pre-empt, although they’d often fall into three categories: 1) They’d try to kill him. 2) They’d gush about how grateful they were for his help in a previous (and often, not connected with his incarnation) rescue. 3) They’d leap on him and try and shag him stupid.

Noddy finally seemed to regain some degree of vocal faculty. “Reg, I’ve gotta go,” he mumbled, not taking his eyes from Rimmer for one moment. “Something’s just come up.”

Rimmer’s eyes dropped down to the man’s crotch before returning to his shocked stare. He prayed it wouldn’t be option three.

Noddy ended the call and let the phone sink down to the counter. He still didn’t make any attempt to deflect his open stare.

“Sorry old chum,” Rimmer began in his ‘Ace’ voice. “The name’s Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer. Friends call me ‘Ace’.”

Silence.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if you could help me identify which plane of reality I’ve ended up in.” Rimmer flicked the fringe from his eyes in a heroic fashion before realising that owning up to the fact that he didn’t have a clue what he was doing wasn’t exactly the best approach for an intergalactic space hero. He coughed politely. “Uh - dimension skid, you see,” he passed off brazenly. “Happens a lot this time of year.”

Noddy’s eyes flitted up to the clock on the wall before returning to Rimmer. April 15th. “I getcha,” he nodded slowly, warming to the idea. “I thought you’d be at Oxford Street by now doing the signing. Get on the wrong Tube line, didja?” He shrugged good-naturedly. “Well no worries, mate. Happens to the best of us. This one time, me and my mate Reg - ”

However, Rimmer was no longer listening. Instead his eyes were flitting left and right, taking in the various treasures of merchandise laid lovingly across the counter. Books and models and figurines of startlingly familiar design all stared back at him.

It was them. Him. All emblazoned with Red Dwarf’s old ship logo.

“What the - ?” he breathed, the voice of his alter ego suddenly lost. “What the smeg are these?”

Noddy paused, baffled. “It’s your latest merchandise, mate. I’d have thought your marketing lot would have shown it to you before it went for general release? Selling like hotcakes at the moment.”

“Merchandise for what?”

“Why, the complete DVD release of course!” Noddy span back to the glass case behind him and excitedly fished out a handful of cases, laying them out on the counter for Rimmer’s inspection. “All eight series of Red Dwarf are out now, complete with behind-the-scenes extras and cast commentaries. Been a long time in the coming, I can tell you!”

Rimmer blinked unsteadily as he cast his eyes over the cases before him. “DVDs? Series? What - ?”

He turned over a couple of the cases with shaking hands. Sure enough, they each depicted their adventures in synopsis format. All of the memorable events were there, as well as the ones he’d rather forget.

“So - ” Rimmer rolled his tongue round his mouth, as if to test out this new premise, “ - in this reality, Red Dwarf is a TV show? I’m a character not a real person?” A much-appreciated light bulb clicked on in Rimmer’s mind. “So that’s why the computer said that the readings showed this as an invalid reality.”

“So - ” Noddy seemed similarly stumped by this premise. “You reckon you’re not the actor, but the actual TV character?”

Rimmer did nothing to confirm or deny the accusation. His bemused, shocked expression was clearly enough.

Noddy was strangely silent, eyeing him suspiciously through one eye. “If you’re Ace then, mate,” he began slowly, “which one are you?”

“Sorry?”

“Well I thought there was supposed to be loads of different incarnations of Ace?” Noddy ventured. He gestured to the silver DVD, emblazoned with Ace’s smug visage on the front. “You’re not the original, are you?”

Rimmer scoffed. “That arrogant git?” He flicked an un-amused eyebrow. “Hardly.”

Noddy tapped his finger against his lips. “Or there was that episode in series six? Where the polymorph sucked out your negativity and you became Ace?” He placed a fist to his forehead before removing it with an audible schmuck sound.

“How on Io did you - ?” Rimmer stopped himself quickly. This was too weird for words. “No.”

An odd look crossed Noddy’s face, caught somewhere between reverence and pity. “Then you must be the original Rimmer,” he said quietly. “The one who left.”

Rimmer’s eyes sank back to the Red Dwarf merchandise shelf to see Lister’s cocky Liverpudlian grin gazing back up at him. He squirmed uncomfortably under his expectant stare. Something in Noddy’s words had felt a little like an accusation, although he didn’t dwell on it long; something else he’d said had snared his attention.

“Wait, what do you mean I must be the original Rimmer?” he asked suspiciously.

Noddy swept up the DVDs, ensuring that the brown one at the very end was snatched up first before stacking them back carefully in the case behind him. “Oh, no reason,” he muttered.

A low rumble of thunder sounded outside as the rain began to lash down mercilessly. The park across the road that had once been full of life was now empty and barren.

After a thoughtful pause, Noddy turned back to face Rimmer. “Do you miss them?”

Rimmer’s mouth opened to allow a series of carefully crafted insults to spurt forth. Over the years they’d been stranded together, he’d collected enough verbal attacks, criticisms and snide remarks to ensure his frustrations about his crewmates were sufficiently vented for at least two hundred years. Yet caught off guard at this moment in time, he couldn’t recall a single one.

He closed his mouth and simply shrugged. He didn’t wholly trust himself to say anything.

Noddy grinned, proffering him a purple DVD case. “Wanna see what you’ve been missing?” He wiggled it temptingly.

Rimmer pursed his lips, nonchalant. “DVDs are a little archaic, don’t you think?” he muttered. “Don’t you have any video versions?”

“VHS?” Noddy shook his head. “Bit beyond my remit, mate. You’ll probably need to check out eBay for those, I should think.”

Releasing a sigh through flared nostrils, Rimmer accepted the DVD with a grateful nod. “I don’t suppose you know where I could find a bed for the night, do you?” he asked. “To sleep, I mean,” he added a little too quickly. He’d swiftly learned it was best to ensure his enquiries for sleeping arrangements left little to the imagination.

Noddy tapped his nose. “I know just the place.”


	2. Chapter 2

It would be an understatement to say that the Hotel Shangri-La left guests feeling a little disappointed upon arrival. Yet despite its shabby, run-down appearance, Rimmer had certainly not stumbled across the worst possible example that the city had to offer. It was a truth universally acknowledged that the likelihood of finding a quality overnight establishment in London’s East End was akin to Jesus conducting his Second Coming in a bingo hall in Swindon.

It was clear that the hotel was clinging precariously to the heady heights of two AA stars. The furniture and décor - which shakily passed itself off with the term ‘retro’ in the brochure - most likely predated the absurdly young receptionist who sat at the desk, flicking absently through a copy of a trashy magazine.

She didn’t acknowledge him as he approached, forcing Rimmer to give a small, polite cough to attract her attention. “Excuse me?” he ventured.

The receptionist sighed, flipping over the next page of her magazine to take in an article entitled ‘Is ‘Mr Right’ right under your nose?’. “Yes?” she tutted impatiently, not even bothering to turn her attention from her reading material.

Rimmer drummed his fingers awkwardly against his thigh. “I don’t suppose you have a spare room for the night, please - ” His eyes flitted down to the name badge pinned to her shirt, where the name ‘Wendy’ and the platitude ‘Happy to Help’ stared back up at him. He correctly suspected that only one of these pieces of information was accurate. “ - Wendy?”

The young girl glanced up at him in disgust, as if he’d just asked if she was into dogging as a part-time hobby. She looked him up and down, taking in his wig and bacofoil outfit before flicking back her peroxide-bleached locks. “D’you have a reservation?” she asked sullenly in a thick London accent.

Rimmer tilted his head to see the lines of keys hooked onto the wall behind her. It didn’t look as if they were exactly in high demand for providing bed and board. Apart from perhaps a family of mice and other critters of the scurrying kind, judging by the trap set up on the floor below them.

“Erm,” Rimmer bit his lip, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, I was hoping you’d be able to allow me to stay the night free of charge.” At the inevitable raised eyebrow, he continued swiftly. “You see - and bear with me on this one - although I look like a TV character, I’m actually an intergalactic space hero. And thanks to a dimension skid, I’m stuck in this plane of reality without my wallet.”

Rimmer chuckled good-naturedly. Wendy chewed on her gum, unimpressed.

“But just for tonight,” he clarified quickly. “After all, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your - ” his eyes took in her cold scowl, “ - kind hospitality for any longer than necessary. And - er - ” Words began to fail him as a pink bubble slowly inflated from red-stained lips, growing impressively large. Rimmer angled his head to regain her attention. “It would be rather helpful if perhaps you could assist me?”

Pop. The bubble burst and Wendy sucked the gum back into her mouth. Craning her head back, she hollered through the open doorway behind her. “Simon, call the ol’ bill! We’ve got another druggie nutter!”

Rimmer tried to shush her with soothing hands, his eyes flitting nervously towards the open door. “No no no - I’m not a druggie nutter,” he hissed in his normal voice, all Ace protocol lost. After all, if this was how scary the receptionist was, he wasn’t keen on incurring the wrath of this ‘Bill’ character.

He was cut short as a man leaned around the doorframe, clutching a cricket bat in sweaty palms. Rimmer’s hands instinctively hovered over the guns holstered under his jacket until he clocked his rather nerdish appearance - a tall, lanky man with a pudding bowl haircut and trousers at least three inches too short, revealing Daz-white socks. He hardly looked like a threat.

The receptionist rolled her eyes at the sight. “Oh bleedin’ hell, Simon - ” she sighed listlessly.

Simon swiftly joined her at the reception desk gesturing loosely with the bat. “Just take a twenty from the till and be on your way!” he bargained. “We don’t want any - ”

Suddenly he gasped as he took in Rimmer properly, the hand grasping the cricket bat dropping loosely by his side before allowing it to clatter to the floor. His fingers drew back into excited fists that he clutched to his chest.

“Oh my god,” he gushed. “Are you Chris Barrie?”

“Who?” Wendy demanded. Rimmer glanced over his shoulder before returning to the man’s expectant gaze. He was glad someone had asked.

Simon chuckled nervously, eyes flitting between Rimmer and the unimpressed receptionist. “It’s Chris Barrie,” he hissed under his breath. He sighed at her blank look. “Have you not seen Red Dwarf?”

“Nah.”

“The Brittas Empire?”

“Nah.”

“Tomb Raider?”

Wendy’s jaw masticated like a cow, as if chewing over the premise. “The film with that Angelina Jolie bird?”

“Yes.”

Wendy popped the gum against the roof of her mouth. “Nah.”

Rimmer remained equally flummoxed until a memory from the DVD sleeve politely tapped him on the shoulder to remind him that in this dimension, he was supposed to be Chris Barrie.

“Oh, OH,” he clocked. Perhaps this might have been a more pertinent method of gaining freebies rather than claiming he was some sort of space traveller. “Why yes, yes I am,” he muttered uncertainly, his voice sliding experimentally up and down the tonal range of his voice. After all, he wasn’t entirely sure whether this Barrie chap would put on a voice to ‘play’ his role or use his natural accent.

Yet the man before him didn’t seem to notice, the same manic grin still plastered to his face. “I’ve got to say - I’m a huge fan of the show. I’ve got all the series out back,” he enthused, indicating with a nod of the head back towards the door behind him. “You must have come from the DVD signing down Oxford Street, right?” Rimmer barely had the time to open his mouth before Simon cut in to answer for him. “Course you have, stupid question. Didn’t realise you guys were showing up in costume an’ all that. Must have been a right laugh. I was so smegged off I had to miss it today, couldn’t swap the shifts you see.”

Rimmer blinked twice, noticing a few seconds too late that Simon had in fact stopped blathering and was now watching him with an expectant gaze. “Mm,” he offered, non-committal. The less he incriminated himself, the better.

“You looking for a room for the night, squire?” Simon nodded, understanding. “I’m sure I can oblige you. On the house, no worries.”

Simon snapped out his arm before him, swirling it into a perfect Rimmer salute before letting it drop down his side once more. Wendy looked torn between bursting into hysterical laughter and calling the police herself to pick up two nutcases. Even Rimmer had to wince at the memory of his old, starched self.

Wendy snorted. “Don’tcha  think you ought to run that freebie offer by Mr Evans? In case he’s kinda - you know - pissed off with that?”

Simon sighed patiently. “I’m a supervisor, Wendy. You’ll notice that it states that on my badge here.” He tapped it with a long, slender finger, flashing a knowing look at Rimmer who returned it with a diluted smile. Wendy seemed less impressed, embarking on blowing yet another large bubble.

Simon continued, unflustered. “And as such, I think you’ll find that I have certain Supervisor privileges that I’m afraid you’re not privy to. Check your Employee Handbook. Page 86, section four, clause six clearly states that Supervisors have sufficient rank to provide free accommodation to VIPs, especially if it should it be deemed to raise the profile of the hotel.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Rimmer inwardly slapped a palm to his forehead. He had a horrible feeling that this weed of a man based his misplaced sense of authority on his old self, seeing them as enviable heights, not a basis for comedy. He shuddered at the self-recognition.

Pop. “Whatever,” Wendy chewed. She turned her attention to the computer before her and began to hammer at the keyboard with acrylic nails so long that Rimmer was slightly bemused how she could even type with them. “How’s Room 205 then? Honeymoon Suite.” She turned to Simon with a snide smile. “At least then you can kiss arse in private.”

******

Simon had indeed waived the fee for the room. However in return, Rimmer did have to sign quite a number of papers, as well as some dog-eared books emblazoned with Red Dwarf’s old ship logo. This was too weird for words.

The décor of the Honeymoon Suite was an echo of the reception, yet displayed the odd token of a ‘deluxe’ upgrade. The pillows weren’t so thin that they required folding in half before they were comfortable enough to sleep on (the JMC had been quite a fan of that one) and a small TV and DVD player sat on the writing desk, although the technology looked a little ancient even for this time period.

Beside the double bed, two glasses and a dusty bottle of wine sat in silent expectation. Rimmer correctly concluded that the aged look of the wine bottle didn’t necessarily reflect the refinement and class of the beverage within. Instead, it was far more likely that it had simply been many, many months since anybody had stayed in this room.

It was hardly a shock. Clearly anybody rich enough to aspire to a ‘deluxe’ honeymoon suite wouldn’t be willing to actually pay for a rundown hotel such as this one; a hotel based in a neighbourhood where walking out and about after dark reduced your life expectancy rather significantly.

Flopping himself down on the bed, Rimmer exhaled deeply. The DVD of Red Dwarf: Series VII lay waiting on the pillow beside him, face down. Craning his head, he could just about make out the intriguing spiel:

After a temporary bout of deadness, the Dwarfers find themselves solving one of the biggest conspiracy plots of all time, before Ace Rimmer drops in with the challenge of Rimmer’s life. Meantime Kryten gets seriously tetchy and Lister has one of the hottest screen kisses ever. Pity it’s not with the girl of his dreams. Pity it’s not with a girl.

Rimmer snorted in amusement as he opened the DVD case. He wouldn’t be surprised if Lister had gotten himself into a romantic entanglement with a GELF again. Something small yet insistent flared in his chest at the memory, but it was too cryptic to decipher and he dismissed it just as swiftly.

He started where he - literally - left off, with the episode that documented his departure as Ace. The show began by depicting one of his predecessor’s many heroic exploits; mounting a daring mission to rescue the Princess Bonjella. Most likely before mounting her, Rimmer sulked with a matching scowl.

How come that Ace got to rescue the blonde with the nice tits when he got lumbered with saving the tribal princess of the Kinitowawi clan? Arguably yes, Khakhakhakhakhak had been a lovely conversationalist. But squashed together in Wildfire’s tiny cockpit, it could be said that she had taken slight advantage of their cramped conditions…

After the opening credits had rolled, the action shifted to one of  Lister’s many experiences in AR, a realm of fantasy he’d often escape to during the boring, dreary days aboard Starbug. Rimmer recalled how he would slope off in the direction of the AR suite at least twice a week, sprouting some cock and bull nonsense about playing the games to ‘broaden his cultural horizons’. Everyone else silently accepted it was because he was horny as hell and wanted to release some tension by having a quick shag.

“I've used up this year's water supply with ice-cold showers, Kryten. I was looking at the log this morning: 112 gallons! If I carry on like this my libido's gonna cause a drought.”

It was…strange seeing Lister again. As soon as he heard the cocky challenges and Scouse-toned banter, he could recall that familiar sense of irritation, akin to fingernails down a chalkboard.

And yet -- and yet, something else in his chirpy, hamster-like grins and cheeky winks tugged at something buried deep inside him. It was a pleasurable pain; that reminiscent joy upon seeing a photograph of someone you’d once lo- known after such a long time, but equally comprehending that you would never see them again.

The action shifted to Starbug’s frenzied dance of panic, the tiny ship caught in a storming energy pocket. Rimmer groaned to himself. He knew exactly who was about to put in an appearance. And after witnessing sickening levels of smug gittiness earlier, his arrival required, no, demanded a glass of anything alcoholic on standby. His eyes wandered over to the bedside table where the dusty bottle of wine sat. He eyed it critically.

Ever the sensible man that he was, Rimmer kept his pouring steady and measured. Just a drop, he told himself. After all, he wanted to remain the very portrait of maturity and self-restraint if he was going to be forced to re-watch this episode of his life.

“Well I said I’d be back for breakfast. How are those kippers doing, fellas?”

The bottle quickly tilted up to allow the glass to fill to the brim, the sound of his double’s head/desk interaction punctuating the glugging rhythm. Screw moderation. It was a medical smegging necessity.

******

Three large medical necessities and a couple of episodes later, Rimmer had already learned more than he’d ever hoped to.

Kochanski was back. Oh smegging joy of joys. He’d hardly been gone for five minutes and the creator in this reality felt the need to replace him with a stuck up set of curves. Had Starbug been fitted with some bloody revolving door or something? One out, one in? Perhaps that’s how karma worked in this universe.

He’d also witnessed, much to his horror and embarrassment, that it had been Lister in that bloody knight’s outfit all along. Admittedly, he had wondered why the King of Camelot had welcomed such a short, stumpy addition to his table, but he couldn’t say that he’d ever twigged it before. What unsettled him most was the realisation that such a momentous burst of encouragement the fight had kindled had in fact all been a ploy. If the event that inspired him to become Ace had all been a lie, then what the hell did that make him now?

And by some freak of nature, space and time itself, David Lister was his own father. A self-created entity. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the premise he’d learned when they’d gone ‘back to reality’ - that Lister was in fact God himself. It was a staggering idea to take in - that a slobby, semi-literate space bum could in fact be a timeless, all-knowing deity. Talk about working class kid makes good.

But of course, everything came back to Lister - as if he were the centre of a universe around which everything revolves. Part of him felt incredibly bitter about this notion. Another part of him felt like it made complete and utter sense, as if something deep down had accepted this concept long ago.

Rimmer took a long hard swig from his glass of wine. This was all a bit too metaphysical for his liking.

The episode Blue, of which he was now partaking, made for very awkward viewing. Lister was clearly in love - or thought he was in love - with Kochanski. Kryten couldn’t stand the sight of her. And the tension in the air, borne from Kochanski’s anger and frustration at not being able to get back to her home dimension, was almost unbearable.

It was hardly surprising that they almost got themselves splattered across deep space by a passing comet. The weight on board Starbug was too great - clearly with far too many words unsaid it seemed. He suspected that jettisoning some junk wasn’t going to be enough.

“Look, I’m gonna check out the hold. Rimmer, man. You coming?”

The wine glass slowly sank from his mouth as Rimmer stared openly at the TV screen. The others slowly turned to face him.

“Did I say - ?” Lister seemed just as surprised as he did. The pair slowly nodded as the audience tittered nervously in the background. “Why did I call you ‘Rimmer’? I called you ‘Rimmer’, my god! Cat - are you gonna make yourself useful or are you just gonna preen yourself all day?”

Rimmer tapped a finger against the stem of his glass, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious. That was…odd.

The moment was swiftly forgotten as, with a wrench in his chest, the scene changed to the Cat and Lister, sitting cross-legged in the midst of a sea of boxes and treasures. The things he’d had to leave behind.

“You know, he had lots of funny little habits. But now he’s gone I can see them for what they were.”

The people he’d left behind.

“Cretinous.”

The person he’d left behind.

“No,” Lister chuckled. “Little human foibles that made Rimmer - ” he paused, searching for the right word , “- special. He was unique.”

Rimmer felt a rush of warmth that he was sure hadn’t come from the wine. It’s always a strange and disconcerting sensation to hear others talking about you when they’re convinced you’re not listening. But this? This was just surreal.

“He won’t throw any of this stuff away cos it reminds him of all the good times he had with Rimmer,” the Cat confided to Kryten before shrugging resignedly. “I must have blinked and missed ‘em!”

Lister missed the joke. “You don’t know what we used to do on Red Dwarf back in the early days.”

Rimmer snorted - he remembered the early days alright. He watched the action on the screen turn to one of their many Locker Room games and emptied the last of the bottle of wine into his glass. Perhaps he’d forgotten the dark months before they’d found Kryten. The times before the Cat showed any interest in socialising with them, beyond demanding to be fed or napping on their bunks.

Before they’d managed to secure a hold on their situation or gathered together a sense of purpose and direction. The crushing boredom and loneliness. The unexpected moments of panic and fear that would overwhelm each of them in turn.

He could remember the sleepless nights lying awake in the dark, hearing Lister sobbing quietly to himself in the bunk above. He’d simply lie there, as still and silent as the ghost he was, pretending he was asleep. Lister probably knew all too well that Rimmer could hear him. Perhaps he was embarrassed. Or perhaps it was enough to know that even though he was stranded alone in a vast and empty universe, at least someone was listening.

Rimmer blinked in surprise as the scene shifted to Lister lounging in the cockpit of Starbug as Ace beamed in behind him, unnoticed. He swallowed as the man strode silently into the cockpit and peeled off the wig.

No - it was him.

Lister was understandably surprised at his sudden, unexplained appearance. Yet his TV self seemed unfazed, happy to explain.

“I got fed up of adventuring,” he sighed. “You know what it’s like - you save a couple of civilisations and it all gets a bit samey.” He smiled warmly. “I thought I’d come and find the old team.”

Rimmer shook his head loosely as he sat up straighter. No - there was something wrong. This hadn’t happened, he’d never gone back. He’d hoped and prayed and dreamed of returning, but never had the balls to actually go through with it. After all, he’d become Ace to get away from the confusion over his feelings about Lister. To return now would be -- he stopped as he tried to detangle the conundrum that had knotted in his mind. Crazy. Wonderful. Terrifying.

A horrible thought grasped him by the stomach. Perhaps this was what Noddy had been referring to - that he, the ‘original’ Rimmer, had left, and this impostor on the screen had followed in his footsteps, usurping his rightful place.

“It’s good to see you,” Lister offered.

Rimmer released a shuddered breath. It was good to see him too, he conceded silently as he traced the outline of his jaw with sad, dark eyes. He felt inexplicably jealous of his other self as he wove a tale he knew to be false, watching Lister becoming wilfully entangled in the lies.

“I - um - I hear you’ve got a new crewmember.”

Ohhh yes indeed. Kristine-smegging-Kochanski. No sooner was he out the door, someone else had walked in to replace him.

“She's pretty attractive though, isn't she?”

“Is she?” Lister shrugged. “I hadn't really noticed. She's the type you don't really notice.”

An ugly scowl overtook Rimmer’s face. Liar.

“So, she’s... not as attractive as me, then?”

Rimmer spluttered on his drink, a hand clamped urgently to his mouth as if he feared a similarly direct remark would escape his own. That question seemed so left field that it could have been from the next galaxy.

“Don't be daft... she couldn't hold a candle to you, man.”

He blinked unsteadily. And that answer probably resided with it.

“Nah, you're just saying that,” Rimmer batted back humbly.

“I'm not,” Lister insisted sincerely. He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “I missed you, man.”

What?

His other self was suddenly deadly serious. “And I've missed you too, Listy.”

Double what?

“Ohh, Arnold, man…”

“Dave…”

Rimmer’s head swam dizzy, watching in utter disbelief as Lister rushed out of his seat towards the returning hero, his breath quickening as his other self gathered him up in his arms, embracing him fiercely.

“Don't ever leave us again!”

“I won't! I won’t!”

“You promise?”

The platitudes and the desperate pledges came fast and furious, the entire exchange seeming caught in a strange cinematic parody. Rimmer’s fingers quivered with restrained excitement and fear, and he curled them back, silencing them into tight fists. Although the action before him reflected his innermost  desire, the entire act felt theatrical, staged, and exaggerated. As if it were a --

“Ohh, Listy…”

“Ohh, Rimmsy…”

Ohh, no way…

With their faces only inches apart, Rimmer watched as the pair succumbed to feelings clearly beyond their control. His hands covered his open mouth as slowly, but surely, their lips joined in a kiss.

The resulting stunned yells of surprise were entirely mutual. Just as the Lister on the screen fell from his bunk - wrenched to reality with the force of the shock - Rimmer scrambled back as far away from the screen as he could, trembling visibly against the pillows.

“It was just a dream,” Lister told himself and the euphoric audience. “Just a dream.”

OH SMEG.

Rimmer only just made it to the bathroom in time, dry-retching and hyperventilating at the sink. Upon such a momentous discovery, the resulting rush of emotions had been far too great; a collective sense of pure, undiluted revelation that hit him square between the eyes.

It wasn’t disgust - or if it was, it was only at his own stupidity for not having worked it out earlier. No -- it was far stronger than that. It felt like…

…mourning.

It was a sudden onslaught of grief and loss and heartache; the intensity of comprehending, all in one hologrammatic breath, that he’d simultaneously found and then lost something. Someone.

And as he pieced together the various scenes depicting Lister’s loneliness and depression over the last couple of episodes, he felt a horrible sense of realisation. It hit him with all the force of a tidal wave, thundering through his very being.

Lister hadn’t encouraged him to become Ace because he wanted to get rid of him and his irritating habits.

Despite how much it had pained him, Lister had wanted him to be happy. He’d pushed him to escape the drudgery and hopelessness of their lives together and seize the chance to become the hero he’d always wanted to be.

Rimmer dragged his hands down his face and sighed. Smeg, he wasn’t drunk enough for this.


	3. Chapter 3

It was inevitable really.

With the bottle of wine depleted, Rimmer decided to sample the mini bar at a swift but necessary pace - moving on to consume the miniatures of Jack Daniels, Smirnoff, Archers and many more wondrous variants, one by one. The tiny discarded bottles made a rather pretty pattern on the bedspread, with Rimmer in the centre of this new, strange solar system of his own devising.

That same scene, those same seconds of action, played and replayed themselves on the screen before him under the strained duress of the remote control. It was an act rather reminiscent of the time loop they'd once been stuck in before they'd lost Red Dwarf; perhaps an adventure that their creator, writer, whatever, had deemed unworthy for the audience of this dimension.

Each replay drew forth new reactions on a spectrum he'd never thought feasible. At first, he'd felt useless, slowly drowning under a wave of helpless sorrow. The more he dwelled on the frustration of the situation, the more he found himself being overcome with a raging sense of injustice - the anger flaring through his body as if he were being consumed by flames. The surge of synthetic hormones sent him on a downward spiral of base arousal, and he was soon bringing himself to an orgasm that was frustratingly empty. Now, he was just hollow, spent, and blank - lying silent and still in the eye of the storm.

The hysterical laughter of the audience still rang fresh in his ears and he felt a surge of humiliation. For them it was one big joke - an act that was the epitome of ridiculousness. Rimmer's eyes sank closed in comprehension. Of course it was. For them, his whole life was one great joke - the very reason why he'd been created.

His mind burned with the conundrum. If Lister's feelings were indeed mutual, was it an act of free will? Or was it the surreptitious act of an unfeeling creator, drawing them unknowingly together to a fate of his own choosing? Rimmer pressed his hands against his eyes until red patterns swirled in the darkness. This was giving him one cracker of a headache.

An idea suddenly hit him. If the creator had known he would eventually draw them together, then surely he'd have woven in the steps towards their destiny in the earlier part of their lives, the earlier series? Rimmer hauled himself onto unsteady feet and staggered across to the telephone. He had to know.

The phone only rang once before it was answered.

"Good evening, Reception. How can I - ?"

"Simon? I need to borrow your Red Dwarf DVDs." Rimmer blinked in surprise at the sound of his own voice. His words were a tad more slurred and desperate than he'd thought they'd be.

There was a shocked pause before Simon spoke again. "Of course, Mr Barrie." He coughed politely. "Um - which one were you lookin' to borrow?"

Rimmer glanced across to the TV screen which flickered with the frozen, silent image of Lister - eternally caught in his moment of panicked realisation.

"All of them."

******

Simon was upstairs within five minutes, armed with a bundle of DVDs under one arm and the requested second bottle of wine under the other. He'd very kindly offered to watch them with him, in order to provide an authentic fan commentary as it were. The offer had been, understandably, declined.

Inserting the Series I disc into the DVD player, Rimmer clumsily poured himself another large glass of wine before settling into the mussed sheets ready with the pad and pen - each emblazoned with the Hotel Shangri-La emblem - from beside the phone.

Ever the anally-retarded man he'd always been, even when it came to affairs of the heart, Rimmer decided that he was going to detail anything and everything that had occurred between them over the last seven years that belied mutual hidden desire.

He began to meticulously watch each episode in turn, scoping out clues - missed sideways glances, scenes and conversations he'd never featured in or was privy to - anything to convince himself that what he'd witnessed was definitely more than just a dream.

But as the second bottle of wine gradually disappeared, he was no longer restricting himself to watching the episodes in any structured order. Instead, they had become a random selection of events, inspired by the onslaught of old, dusty memories.

The once-detailed notes had disintegrated into desperate, drunken scrawl, clearly no longer a careful, detailed collection of supporting evidence. Much like the diseased rot that began to set in during his experience in the game Better Than Life, this list before him had mutated into a cruel, mocking list of obvious signs and missed opportunities.

He'd only just realised how concerned and comforting Lister had been when he'd been upset about his father's death. How oddly close the relationship was between their 'high' selves. Rimmer swallowed. How powerfully aggressive the sexual tension was between their 'low' incarnations.

It was only now that he even considered how Lister had saved him from his Self-Loathing beast, his clones, himself.

In the neat collection of perfectly edited adventures, where all the darkness and depression and uncertainty had been stripped away in deference to the ironic comedy of their lives, the proof was all there, plain as bloody day. The unspoken connection, the mutual understanding, the rescues, the comfort, and the sacrifices.

It were as if the dark blanket of uncertainty had been lifted. And in the brilliant light of the exposed truth, Rimmer found himself sobbing.

David Lister and Arnold Rimmer were flip sides of the same coin; a clash of two forces of nature. They couldn't live apart, but they couldn't live together either. Of course they could never be friends. It had to be all or nothing - locked together in a furious battle of words, or a passionate, all-encompassing tangle of lips and limbs.

And just as they'd reached the plateau, dangling precariously on the precipice of revelation, he'd walked away.

Stupidstupidstupidstupid.

The token wig long discarded, Rimmer tangled long thin fingers in the curls of his hair and tugged. Oblivious as they were to the distant audience watching them, he still couldn't shake the cruel irony that, as usual, he'd discovered his opportunity for a happy ending far too late.

"I'm going for it, Rimmer. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you don't get many shots at happiness," mused the Lister on the screen. "So when you do, you go for them all."

Rimmer's light bee gave up the ghost. Faithfully replicating the effects of a dedicated alcohol binge, his eyes fluttered closed in a dizzying spin and he sank back into the pillows.

Thankfully, they were the last words he heard before he lost consciousness.

******

It struck him almost immediately how quiet and still the air back on Starbug was.

Perhaps it had always been that way, and he'd never noticed it when he'd been stuck here all those years ago. Or perhaps it sat in stark opposition to the gunfire and shouts and explosions of the life he now lived. Whatever the distinction, the atmosphere felt surreally calm and silent.

Rimmer's quivered as he stood in the doorway to the cockpit. Sure enough, Lister sat in his usual white pyjamas, honey-brown legs crossed on the dashboard as he stared out into space, as if searching forlornly for something.

"Hello, Listy."

The pilot seat swung back to face him, startled. Even from where he stood, Rimmer could make out the universe's infinite depths in those dark eyes, as if the image of the eternal blackness had been branded onto them.

"Smegging hell - " Lister breathed. He stood uncertainly, his gaze darting between the figure in the doorway and the midsection beyond. "How did you - ? I didn't think you'd - ? What are you - ?"

Rimmer hushed him with a raise of the hand. "Wait," he implored gently, "don't say anything. Just let me speak - please?"

Lister's chest heaved visibly, an unsteady hand snaking out to hold onto the seat. "But - "

"The others still don't know," he reassured quickly, "I know that." He dropped his voice low. "And they don't ever need to know that I was here if necessary."

Rimmer mopped his face with the palm of his hand, steeling himself. "I need to ask you something - something I really hope I've got right. But if I'm wrong, I promise I'll leave right away, you won't ever need to see me again. Okay?"

At first, he thought he could also make out the reflections of the stars in Lister's eyes as they stared back at him. But as they flitted left and right, searching his own, he realised they were the flickered beginnings of tears. He nodded wordlessly.

Rimmer wetted his lips unknowingly. "In your dreams," he asked slowly, "did you kiss me?"

A small breath caught in Lister's throat. He opened his mouth to speak but promptly closed it again, nodding a second time.

His chest began to hammer insistently, pounding a rhythm that spurred him on. Rimmer dropped his gaze to the floor before glancing back up at him under the lashes of his eyes. "Was it good?"

He watched as Lister grazed his teeth almost imperceptibly against his lower lip. "I'm not sure," he conceded eventually, causing Rimmer's stomach to lurch. He shifted awkwardly on bare feet, before quietly venturing - "Perhaps you could remind me again?" Lister's mournful eyes flitted down to his lips before returning to Rimmer's gaze. "Just once?"

With a shuddered breath, Rimmer's eyes sank closed. In returning to the ship and proffering the question, he'd come as far as he could. As always, it would have to fall to Lister to make the final move to close the gap. This time it was Rimmer's turn to nod his silent consent.

Eyes still closed, he could hear Lister's gentle footsteps as he approached. And in the surreal paradoxical moment that he felt Lister's warm breath brushing lightly against his lips, Rimmer stopped breathing altogether.

******

The harsh banging on the hotel door wrenched him from the dream, and he sat bolt-upright. The darkness had now drawn back to the harsh reality of the day - the morning sunlight piercing its way through the open curtains. He hadn't even bothered to close them last night.

"Oi - excuse me in there?" came the muffled call from behind the door. "You awake?"

Rimmer exhaled heavily, as if he'd been holding onto the breath for far too long. The eternal loop of static on the TV screen signalled that he must have rolled over onto the DVD remote during the night - silencing the memories in one form to relive them in another. He rubbed his eyes.

The jangle of keys sounded almost a petulant annoyance as the door was finally unlocked and opened. A tall, scrawny figure - no older than eighteen - peered his head around the doorway.

"'Ere - checkout was at 10am, bruv. You need to get gone."

Rimmer blinked slowly. Judging by the irritable gestures with a toilet brush, he'd probably come to clean the room. He pulled up the sheets, suddenly aware of how painfully hard he was.

"Sorry, of course," he muttered incoherently, all traces of his 'Ace' voice long gone. "Give me two minutes."

After splashing some water on his face, smoothing down his jacket and re-donning the wig, Rimmer wandered out sheepishly into the corridor. The lanky teenager was still there, accompanied by a similarly-sullen young girl who was embarking on blowing a large bubble from her gum, watching him with barely-concealed distaste.

Mumbling further apologies, Rimmer slinked off down the corridor. He could just about make out distant whispers behind his back - a question he didn't have to interpret judging by the teenager's snaky reply.

"Dressed like that? Probably crashed here after a gay orgy."

Rimmer winced. He really had to get round to changing his outfit.

******

The ground in the forest was still wet from yesterday's rain, the morning dew clinging to his boots as he walked. He cursed inwardly. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to pay more attention to where he'd left Wildfire before he wandered off. Still, judging by the familiar tree patterns it had to be around here som -

OOF!

Rimmer staggered back, dazed. Okay, now that had hurt. Somehow, instinctively, he knew she was listening.

"Invithibhility field?" he called out as calmly as he was able, grasping his throbbing nose.

"How did you know?" the computer replied smoothly, her words echoing silently in his mind.

"Call it a hunch."

******

"Where are we heading now?"

There was only one place he could go now after witnessing what he had. As much as it hurt to admit it, things back in his home dimension had moved on without him. Indeed, there was still one final series that he couldn't even bring himself to watch last night for fear of what it would churn up. He now realised it was what Noddy had kindly been trying to keep from him.

"Any idea of which dimension you fancy next?"

He'd been tired for a long time. For months, years, he'd told himself that he couldn't return to his old life. Things had gotten too complicated between them. He'd needed distance. He'd needed time to think. And in leaving to become the hero, he'd instinctively known that a fundamental part of him hadn't changed. He was still a coward.

"We could go check out the theta sector again - make sure everything's ticking over there alright."

Just as important as the responsibility that came with being Ace, a part of him had been scared about the important act of transition - choosing a suitable version of himself to take the baton and carry on in his footsteps.

Rimmer glanced across to the lone DVD that sat beside him. An image of a man stared back up at him with his trademark scowl - devoid of an 'H' and dressed in a purple prison smock. And instinctively, he knew where he was going to find it.

This time, he was damned sure that he would take charge of his own destiny. His own finale. His own happy ending. He typed in the coordinates that had been branded on his memory.

"Ace - where are we going?"

"Home," he muttered - quietly, but with a conviction he'd never known before.


End file.
